


There's No Telling

by ficdirectory



Category: The Fosters (TV 2013)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Brain Injury, Car Accident, Cerebral Palsy, Disability, Disuphere Universe, Gen, Hospitalization, Injury Recovery, Parent-Child Relationship, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Siblings, Suicide Attempt, Trauma, selective mutism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-05
Updated: 2018-12-05
Packaged: 2020-01-05 21:18:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18374270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ficdirectory/pseuds/ficdirectory
Summary: Callie Adams Foster holds details about her sister, Mariana’s car accident.  Things no one else knows   She doesn’t have the best track record with car accidents, so Callie’s really hoping this one turns out better. (Set during and post-Prologue of The Crossing.)  This story contains spoilers for Found (#5 in the Disuphere series).





	There's No Telling

**Author's Note:**

> Mariana's perspective was written by my sister.

Callie Jacob didn’t have a great track record with car accidents.  What she didn’t know is, Callie Adams Foster was going to face them, too, and she was going to need far better luck.

 

Just like the first time, there’s almost no warning.  Still, Callie’s kicking herself. Because the difference is, she’s been through it once.  So, she should’ve been able to see it coming…

 

\--

 

**_Feb 14_ **

 

**_Mariana_ **

 

_ So...get ready…  I have a date for V-DAY! 12:39 PM _

 

_ Callie???  Hello? This is big news!  He’s hot and he keeps telling me how hot I AM… 12:41 PM _

 

_ Are you even there??? [sad emoji] 12:42 PM _

 

**_Callie_ **

_ Sorry.  Class. Who is he?  What are you wearing? Send pics! 8:38 PM _

 

**_Mariana_ **

 

_ [Image] 10:32 PM _

 

_ My dress.  My man. So much good food.  It’s heaven. 10:34 PM _

 

_ Oh.  His name is Nick. 10:35 PM _

 

**_Callie_ **

_ Have fun.  Be safe. Love you. 11:51 PM _

 

**_Feb 15_ **

 

**_Callie_ **

_ So, how was it?  Don’t tell me you’re still sleeping...LOL 10:17 AM _

 

**_Feb 16_ **

 

**_Callie_ **

_ Okay, it’s Sunday now, so you should officially be less hungover now. Text me.  Seriously are you okay?? 2:02 PM _

 

**_Feb 21_ **

 

**_Callie_ **

_ I know you’ve been on FB and Insta which is the only reason I’m not freaking out and driving out there to see you.  What’s up? Talk to me. Did something happen with Nick? 9:35 PM _

 

**_Feb 26_ **

 

**_Callie_ **

_ P.S. I have the worst prof ever this semester.  And I’m in a class of 100. Perfect, right? 11:56 AM _

 

**_Feb 28_ **

 

**_Mariana_ **

_ What did you do after Liam? 4:23 PM _

 

**_Callie_ **

_ Told and we moved.  Why? 6:23 PM _

 

_ Is this about Nick? 6:24 PM _

 

_ Mariana? 6:25 PM _

 

_ Is this something I should tell Moms about? 6:27 PM _

 

**_March 1_ **

 

**_Callie_ **

_ Sorry, don’t mean to be a nag.  Just worried. I’m here to listen when you’re ready to talk.  You can always talk to me. 12:01 AM _

 

**_March 3_ **

 

**_Mariana_ **

_ I just got kicked out of school. 11:24 PM _

 

**_Callie_ **

_ Moms are gonna kill you! 1137 PM  _

 

**_March 4_ **

 

**_Mariana_ **

_ Not if I beat them to it. 2:02 AM _

 

**_Callie_ **

_ Mariana that’s not funny. 6:40 AM _

 

_ I know you’re probably asleep but seriously.  Call me when you get up. 6:41 AM _

 

\--

 

Wednesday drags by.  Callie keeps checking her phone, but it’s everybody but Mariana.  Jude updating Facebook. Frankie texting about something. Nether has heard anything from Mariana at all.

 

Callie worries, but she’s also busy.  Classes take all her concentration. And she’s done by 4 PM.  She’s gotten in about three hours of homework when her phone rings playing  _ Nuvole Bianche _ Callie’s about to let it go to voicemail, but at the last minute, she picks up.

 

“Hey, Brandon.  Have you heard from Mariana?” Callie wonders.

 

“Callie…” Brandon says.  His voice sounds strange.  Strained.

 

Taking a deep breath, she forces herself to ask the question.  Callie feels like she’s falling.

 

“Who died?”

 

“What?  No...Callie...she’s not.  She didn’t, but…” Brandon sputters.

 

“Who?” Callie demands.  “Who are you talking about?”

 

“Mariana…” Brandon sighs.  Now Callie’s sure. Brandon’s crying.  “She was in an accident. Her car hit a tree.  It’s bad. We’re at UCSD Hospital. I just called Jude.  You guys should come.”

 

“Yeah.  Okay,” Callie says, feeling numb. 

 

She doesn’t remember hanging up.

 

\--

 

The drive to the hospital is quiet.

 

Jude looks out the window.

 

Callie’s busy abiding every single traffic law.

 

It’s been a half hour when Jude finally speaks:

 

“Do you think she’s gonna die like Mom?” he asks.

 

Callie breathes deep.  “I hope not, Jude...but I don’t know.  Did Brandon say anything more to you? He said she hit a tree, but…”

 

“Head trauma,” Jude says, in a flat voice.  “I mean...that’s bad, right? He said she has other minor injuries from the airbag.  Whiplash.” He pauses, thinking. “Do you think it was a drunk driver again?”

 

“It’s bad, yeah.  And I don’t know, Jude.  I know she had some stuff going on…but I...I didn’t expect...” Callie admits, steadying her breathing as she signals to change lanes.

 

(She can’t tell Jude just how much she actually knows.  Not without damning Mariana. So she stays quiet.)

 

\--

 

They arrive in the waiting room just after 8:30 PM.  A girl about their age with intense brown eyes and scars on one side of her face directs Callie and Jude up to neuro ICU.  The girl’s eyes flicker briefly with recognition, but Callie doesn’t have time to answer twenty questions about being related to Jesus.  This isn’t about Jesus. It’s about Mariana. 

 

Following the directions they’re given, Callie and Jude find Mom and Brandon in the waiting room.  But no Mama. No Jesus. No Frankie.

 

“Have the doctors said anything?” Callie asks.

 

“Uh...just that the first 24-48 hours are critical…” Mom says.  Her hair is short and messy, as if she’s spent hours running her hands through it.  “Mama and I saw her briefly just after noon.”

 

“Noon?” Callie says, startled.  “How long ago did this happen?”

 

“I got a call just after three this morning.  Officers on the scene recognized her car,” Mom admits.  “She’d been drinking…”

 

Callie’s insides sink.  Beside her, Jude is pale and drops into a chair.

 

“Why would you wait this long to tell us?  Mom, I’ve been worrying about Mari all day…” Callie exclaims, angry.

 

“Hey, back off,” Brandon steps between Callie and Mom.

 

“Where’s Frankie?” Callie asks.  “Does she know?”

 

“She does not know yet.  Mama’s at home with her. Why were you worried about Mariana?” Mom asks.

 

“She just...had a lot going on…” Callie hedges.  “What about Jesus? You don’t think he’d wanna know?  That Mariana would want him to know?”

 

“Well, you are welcome to make that call, Callie,” Mom says brusquely.  “But I can’t bring myself to tell Jesus yet. Not after everything he’s already survived.”

 

“Yeah, well, our mom  _ died _ in a car accident, and you had no qualms about letting Brandon call  _ us _ ,” Jude remarks bitterly.

 

“Jude, honey, I know,” Mom says, coming over to sit beside Jude and pressing her lips to the side of his head.  “And I am so sorry about that.”

 

Callie can’t help but think that Jude’s right.  

 

She keeps to herself in the waiting room.  Confining herself to a far corner, arms crossed.  Pretty soon, Jude’s joined Callie. Both occupy their own little corner, while Brandon and Mom sit across the room in another.  

 

“It’s like we’re two different families…” Callie muses.

 

“We are,” Jude answers, his voice empty.  “Times like this, isn’t it obvious? Brandon and Mom are over there.  Lena’s home with Frankie - another family. Jesus and Mariana - another family.  Somehow, we all just ended up sharing the roof over our heads.” He pauses. “Do you remember when it happened to our mom?”

 

“Yeah…” Callie admits.  “A little. Do you?”

 

“I remember, like, a flash.  You yelling at me about your room being all messed up.  But I knew I hadn’t even been in it.”

 

“That was after…” Callie admits.

 

“Did we ever go to the hospital?” Jude wonders.

 

Callie shakes her head.

 

“Do you think Mom ever wished we did?” Jude asks.  “Do you think she...ever felt lonely?”

 

“I hope not…” Callie whispers.

 

Jude scoots closer.  Lays a hand on her arm.

 

\--

 

Jesus arrives at the hospital almost two hours after Callie and Jude.  Finally, Mom called Mama and begged her to call him. And here he is. Mariana’s twin and the last to know.  (Callie knows if it was Jude, who had been hurt, and no one bothered to tell her until very last, she would be livid…)

 

He comes in looking pale, and a little like he’s being chased.  His service dog, a lab-beagle mix named Dudley, in tow.

 

Jesus pauses just after he walks in, casting glances to one side where Mom and Brandon sit, and the other, where Callie and Jude are.

 

They haven’t always had the best relationship.  Callie and Jude’s being fostered and eventually adopted by Mom and Mama had everything to do with the fact that they had lost Jesus.  And when he escaped and came back home when she was fourteen, Callie hardly knew the first thing about how to interact with the strange boy everyone seemed to so love and miss.  She’d been young and immature, and felt most comfortable holding a camera, and therefore, the world at a distance. She had almost estranged Jesus for good in high school, with a senior project she had launched all about him, without his consent.

 

With the help of Jesus’s then-therapist, they’d worked through it.  And though they’re still not particularly close, Callie opens her arms for him, and Jesus surprises her, walking into them.  Because no matter what else went on, there was one thing that bonded them:

 

“My dear,” she whispers fiercely, in character as elderly Brit Mrs. Georgina Feathersby Longbottom. “Everything will be quite alright.”  Callie holds Jesus at arm’s length and looks him in the eyes, knowing her own are bright with tears. Knowing the smile on her face probably looks ridiculously out of place.

 

“Thanks,” Jesus manages, his voice raw.

 

\--

 

They can go in, one at a time, for ten minutes every hour.

 

According to Mom, they’re to stick to calm topics.  No crying in front of Mariana. Nothing but positive energy.  

 

Because she’s not entirely sure about her ability to pull that much positive energy from the whirlpool of trauma and sadness and depression within her, Callie hangs back.

 

She waits, giving Jesus the 11 PM turn, since Mom has already taken the 10 PM slot.  She gives Jude the midnight turn. So it’s 1 AM on March 5th (nearly twenty four hours after the accident) when Callie finally girds herself and takes a deep breath, following the nurse, down the eerily quiet halls of neuro ICU.

 

They stop at a room no different from the rest, except that her sister is inside.  Callie puts her head up and walks with a confidence she doesn’t feel.

 

She stops by Mariana’s bedside.  “Can I hold her hand?” she asks a nurse.

 

“Sure.  Just be careful of the IV.”  The nurse steps out.

 

“Hey.  I’m here, okay?  It’s Callie. And you’re gonna be fine.  Moms aren’t mad. I didn’t tell them anything, okay?  So it’s okay, if you wanna wake up. I promise, Mari…”  Callie swallows the massive lump in her throat and stays silent for the rest of the ten minutes just holding tight to Mariana’s hand.  Willing her to squeeze. 

 

For her next turn, she’s more prepared.  She goes in armed with  _ I’m Yours  _ by Jason Mraz and  _ Love Like This _ by Natasha Bedingfield.   _ Use Somebody _ by Kings of Leon and  _ If I Were a Boy  _ by Beyonce.

 

All were among the first songs Callie can remember singing with Mariana - once the two of them started getting along - and realized they could both sing.  And Callie’s convinced that there’s nothing more soothing than music. She remembers how her own mom sang to her. (At three, Callie had been a hardcore fan of Matchbox Twenty’s  _ Bent _ , and Mom learned every word, and sang her to sleep with it every night until baby Jude was born.)

 

\--

 

Callie comes back out into the waiting room to a near-brawl between all three of her brothers.  It’s after 7 AM, and no one has slept. Mariana’s pressure has kept spiking and dropping. It’s been tense.  Everyone’s on edge. The fact that it’s a neuro ICU waiting room seems to have no bearing on Brandon, Jesus and Jude’s volume.  They’re the only family out here, thank God, but Callie can’t find Mom anywhere.

 

“Dude, who said she was  _ drunk _ ?” Jesus is insisting, stepping up into Brandon’s face.

 

“Mom did,” Jude says, softer.

 

“Wait.   _ Mom _ did?  How does Mom know?” Jesus asks.

 

“Because she got the call…” Callie says.  “Sit down. Seriously. The last thing Mom needs is you three getting into it in the waiting room.”

 

“I wasn’t doing anything,” Jude objects.

 

“Sit down anyway,” Callie directs.

 

Callie’s phone vibrates and her heart leaps with the very real thought that it’s Mariana, before reason kicks in.

 

It’s Frankie.

 

“Was Mariana really in an accident?” Frankie asks, doubtful.  

 

“Didn’t Mama tell you?” Callie asks.

 

“I mean, yeah, but it’s not true, right?” Frankie checks.  “I keep trying to call Jesus but then I remembered it’s too early, and he sleeps in.  But you have class.”

 

“Frankie…” Callie hesitates, clearing her throat. “I’m really sorry, but it’s true.  Mariana did have an accident,” she says, willing herself to stay calm. To keep her knowledge of all those texts from the weeks after Valentine’s Day firmly to herself.  

 

No one needs to know about those.  It wouldn’t do any good, and it would only stress Mari out more.  She needs to feel calm so she can wake up.

 

There’s silence for so long on the other end of the call, Callie’s sure that Frankie’s hung up, until her voice is there, cautious.  “...But she just like...got whipflash or something, right? Nothing bad?”

 

“She hurt her head.  Her eyes are bruised and her head is all wrapped in bandages because she had some surgery on it.” Callie shares, wanting to impart how serious it is to Frankie - to be honest - without scaring her too much.

 

“But I had surgery before, and I’m okay…” Frankie objects.

 

“Right, and that’s what we’re hoping for Mariana, too.” Callie says.  “Are you going to school today?”

 

“Mama says I have to…  But do I have to if you’re not?  And Jude’s not?” Frankie asks.

 

“Well, school is probably a better place for you to be anyway today.  The hospital isn’t a place you wanna hang out. At least at school, you’ll have things to do.  Maybe when you’re done, Mama can bring you over.”

 

“But it  _ is _ where I wanna hang out!” Frankie whimpers.  “I wanna see Mariana.”

 

“There’ll be plenty of time to see Mariana after school, okay?  You go to school today, and do your best.”

 

“Text me when she wakes up,” Frankie bargains.  “The exact second.”

 

“I promise.  I’ll text you that exact second,” Callie vows.  “I’ll tell Mariana you’re thinking of her.”

 

“Yeah, tell her I love her,” Frankie adds.

 

“I will,” Callie promises.  “Have a good day, okay? See you this afternoon.”

 

“Bye.” Frankie says softy before she hangs up.

 

\--

 

Almost 3 hours later, Callie’s phone pings, letting her know one of her inner circle has posted on Facebook.  Mom has cautioned all of them not to post anything about Mari or the accident on social media until they know more about how she’s gonna do.  

 

Callie clicks on the Facebook app:

 

_ Lena Adams Foster shared a link: _

 

**_Mariana | LovingLink - Mariana’s Story_ **

 

Warily, Callie clicks on it, casting a look at Mama, across the waiting room.  She’s joined Mom and Brandon’s side. Callie and Jude are still on the other side, where Jesus sits when he’s not walking around with Dudley.

 

**_March 5, 2020 - 9:49 AM_ **

_ Mariana was in a car accident in the early morning hours of Wednesday, March 4th.  She was airlifted to UCSD Medical Center. Most concerning is her head injury. We created this site to keep friends and family updated.  Mariana’s not having visitors at this time, but we appreciate your love and support and we will update as we have more information, so please check back. _

 

_ -Lena _

 

Callie shakes her head.  She knows just how tech savvy Mama is and it is and there is no way she could’ve set this up.  She still regularly posts her grocery lists to Instagram. As Mom is on the phone and Mama’s just leaving, Callie goes over to Brandon:

 

“What the hell is this?” she asks, showing Brandon the update Lena made.

 

“Pretty self-explanatory, isn’t it?” Brandon asks.  “One of those sites to keep people updated when someone’s in the hospital.”

 

“Well, what kind of privacy settings are in place?” Callie asks hotly.  Seriously, has her brother completely forgotten that their family is in the public eye?  That if the news picks up that Mari’s been in an accident, it’s going to be a media circus?  Another one?

 

“Relax… They have to have an account there, and they have to have the link.” Brandon says.

 

“Seriously?  No. You have to, like, at least do a private invite thing.  Anybody can get the link and get an account.”

 

“Since when are you so concerned about our family’s social media presence?” Brandon objects.

 

“Since I got in major trouble in high school for exploiting Jesus!” Callie whispers.  “How is this any different, Brandon?”

 

“It’s different because Mama asked me to do it,” he says, in that maddeningly calm way he has.  “If they’re busy taking calls from Grandma 65 times a day, and every other friend of Mari’s and relative that we know...that eats up the time they have with Mariana.  This gives them that back.”

 

“People survived without oversharing about their family on social media, Brandon,” Callie maintains.  “You know Mariana will hate this, right?”

 

“Come on, Cal.  We don’t know what Mariana knows right now.   _ You _ hate this.”

 

“Yeah, I do,” Callie says crossing her arms.

 

“What’s going on?” Jesus asks.

 

Callie catches the slight shake of Brandon’s head and swallows the truth again.  “Just this whole thing,” she tells Jesus. And it’s not a lie. Not exactly.

 

\--

 

It’s afternoon, and Frankie’s here, which means Callie number one job has gone from visiting Mariana to babysitting.  She loves Frankie. It’s not that. It’s that none of her brothers are ever expected to do the same. It’s always fallen to her (and Mariana) to watch their sister.

 

She’s helping out Frankie with fourth grade math when Frankie jumps at a commotion happening by the door.

 

“Is she waking up?” Frankie asks.

 

“What are you doing here?” Callie can hear Mama saying lowly.

 

And another broken, female voice gasping, “I heard...about Mariana...I just wanted to come by and make sure she’s okay…”

 

“Jude, can you sit with her?” Callie asks.

 

He nods and moves to Frankie’s side, while Callie stands and walks to the doorway where Mama is letting a short, distraught woman with dark hair have it.

 

“You aren’t supposed to be anywhere near her,” Mama hisses angrily.  “I’m pretty sure I told you years ago that if you ever came near my kids again, it’d be the last thing you did…”

 

Jesus walks up then, back from taking Dudley out.  His mouth drops open at seeing the younger woman. “Ana…  What are you….?” 

 

“Did you call her?” Mama insists, turning on Jesus.  

 

“No...I...have no idea where she is…  I don’t have her number,” Jesus manages.

 

“Well, how did she know to come here?” Mama demands.

 

_ One guess _ , Callie thinks bitterly.

 

“It’s fine, Jesus.  I got it,” Callie reassures, waiting until he retreats into the waiting room and is sitting with Jude and Frankie.

 

“I saw the website....” Ana manages.  “Please. Is she okay? Is she alive?”

 

“That was for family and friends,” Mama says brusquely.  “You’re neither.”

 

“You tagged Mariana in the post.  That’s how I saw it,” Ana explains.  “Listen, I won’t be any trouble. I just wanna know.  Is my daughter alive?” 

 

“Leave now, or I’ll call security,” Mama insists.

 

Ana looks startled.  Devastated. Callie can see Mom and Brandon on their way back from the cafeteria.  And she thinks fast. “Come with me,” Callie says, ushering Ana the long way out, avoiding Mom and Brandon.  (The last thing everyone at the hospital needs is to hear Mom start yelling.)

 

“Callie--” Mama objects.

 

“I’m just walking her out.  Don’t worry. I got it,” she says.

 

Callie doesn’t say anything until they’re well away from the waiting room with all the Adams Fosters in it.  Outside the hospital, Ana takes out a cigarette and lights up.

 

“I’m her sister.  Mariana’s. Since I was eleven, and Mariana was ten.  She talked about you.”

 

Callie shakes out a cigarette of her own and holds it out for Ana to light.  

 

She does, with a shaking hand.

 

“Thanks.” Callie says.  “So, I know you were in touch with each other.  I also know what this is like. I lost my real mom in a car accident when I was ten.  And I’d have given anything for someone to come and tell me it wasn’t true.”

 

Ana exhales smoke on a shaky breath.

 

“Mariana’s alive.  If she can wake up in the next few hours or so, that’d be a really good sign.  Your best bet for updates would be that website,” Callie wrinkles her nose. “Someone - not me - should be updating pretty frequently.  And it’s a way to get information and not risk having a screaming match with Lena or Stef.”

 

“I’m not the best mom.  I know,” Ana insists, still crying.

 

“But you matter to Mariana, and I think she’d want you to know that she’s alive. So, she’s alive.”  Callie stamps out her cigarette. “I should go back.”

 

“Thank you,” Ana offers tearfully, squeezing Callie’s hand in one of her own. It’s cold and dry.

 

\--

 

Despite what she tells Ana, and the truth in it, Callie’s worried.  She’s been to see Mariana several times, and now it’s Friday. Two days since the accident, and no real sign that Mariana’s waking up.  Doctors say it’s good that she responds to pain, but all Callie can think is  _ Stop.  She’s been through enough. _

 

Callie’s there around 9 PM that evening, just talking to Mariana about nothing when her heart monitor starts picking up.  Callie glances at it. No alarm going off. So, Callie just watches as Mariana stirs.

 

She’s not expecting it when Mariana’s eyes open for a split second.  Bright, squinting, and still surrounded by so much bruising, but she’s doing it.  She’s waking up. Mariana looks right at her, and then her eyes fall closed again.

 

It happens so fast, Callie doesn’t even have time to call anyone, to say anything.

 

“Mariana?  Hey… It’s Callie. If you can hear me, can you squeeze my hand?”

 

It’s there.  Faint, but there.  So brief, Callie might’ve imagined it.

 

Her ten minutes is up, so Callie presses a kiss to Mariana’s head.  “I have to go, but I’ll come back, okay? In just a little while. You rest.”

 

Back in the waiting room, Callie knows there’s one person she needs to tell.  She schools her face to reveal nothing and comes to the doorway of the waiting room.  Nods at Jesus.

 

In the hall, away from prying ears, and website-updating pariahs, Callie whispers this news to Jesus.  He has to incline his head to hear her.

 

“So, she woke up,” Callie tells him matter of factly.

 

“What? She did?” Jesus asks. “What happened?”

 

Callie shrugs.  “I was just talking to her like I always do, and she opened her eyes for a second and looked at me.  It was fast. But once she did it, I asked her if she could hear me, to squeeze my hand. She did.”

 

“So...wow.  Do Moms know?” Jesus asks.

 

“No, I figured Mari would want you to know first,” Callie confides.  “Though, I did promise Frankie I’d text her  _ the exact second _ Mariana wakes up.  Go on. Tell everybody you’ve got the next shift.”

 

“Should I tell them she woke up?” Jesus asks.

 

“Sure,” Callie nods, swallowing tears.  

 

She waits until Jesus walks away, and then Callie sits in the hall, occupying an empty chair there.  She opens a new text.

 

**_Callie_ **

_ I know you’re in bed, and probably asleep, but guess what?  Mariana just opened her eyes! It was fast but when I asked if she could squeeze my hand after, she did!  This just happened, Frankie. Texting you, because I promised. Love you. 9:12 PM _

 

\--

 

On Saturday, Callie’s back early.  She half-expects to see the girl with the scars again, but she must not be working today. Callie has to admit, she’s relieved.

 

“How is she?” Callie asks Jesus, who, from the looks of things, has crashed in the waiting room for the night.

 

“Uh.  She’s okay, I think…”  Jesus ventures, scrubbing a hand down his face.  “Mama’s at home with Fran and Jude. Brandon’s getting food or something. Mom’s in with Mari right now…”

 

As if they conjured her, Mom appears then, looking even worse than the day before.  

 

Callie’s up immediately, at the coffee pot, pouring the questionable sludge into a Styrofoam cup and offering it to Mom, with a stale cookie.

 

Mom waves it away.

 

“I don’t know what’s wrong with her…” she moans.

 

“What do you mean?  She was in an accident…” Jesus offers, confused.

 

“Yes, I know that.  I mean, she’s all worked up over something, and I’ll be damned if I can figure it out.  She keeps screaming every time I go near her. God, what if she doesn’t know who I am…”

 

“Then, we remind her,”  Callie says, firm. She nods at Jesus and they go walk down the hall together.  Through some careful observation and well-placed questions Callie has been able to determine that two visitors are, in fact, allowed in ICU at a time.  And she plans to take full advantage of that.

 

They pause outside the door, where they can clearly hear Mariana, moaning and restless.  There is no door. The nurses station is right out here, a good thing for their sister who is fresh out of brain surgery, but Callie does wish there was a bit of privacy.

 

“You okay?” she checks with Jesus.

 

“Yeah,” he answers, a little shaky.  “I just wanna get in there.”

 

“Cleansing breath, dear,” Mrs. Longbottom urges.  “‘Twont do Mariana a smidge of good to take on our stress with her own.”

 

“Right,” Jesus smiles, putting on a brave face as easily as if he wore it all along.  It puts Callie off for reasons she can’t readily name. Makes her feel like she shouldn’t have asked her brother to do this.

 

“Sorry…  God knows you spent enough of your time acting…” Callie blurts, cutting her eyes toward Jesus.

 

“So, I’m pretty damn good at it,” he assures her and walks in, much like Callie herself had hours ago.  Emanating a confidence that she knows he doesn’t feel. “Hey, Mariana,” he greets softly.

 

“No!  Nick...no…” Mariana screams, her voice practically gone from the tube in her throat.  Surgery had taken something like five hours. And she’d been on a ventilator for at least a bit after that.  Her voice barely carries. She’s hard to understand because she’s hard to hear.

 

But Callie hears the name Nick and freezes.

 

“Mariana, it’s okay,” Callie encourages when she can speak again.

 

Even though she and Jesus keep trying to speak to her, all her attention is focused away from them, to the right of the room.  Callie winces, knowing there’s a scar there but rounds the bed with Jesus following behind.

 

“Hey.  Mariana,” Callie starts again, trying to smile.  She steps aside, making room for Jesus to approach, too, if he wants.  “It’s okay. You’re safe. It’s Callie,” Callie says.

 

“No...Nick...Nick...Nick…”

 

“Who’s Nick?” Jesus asks, and Callie shushes him.

 

“Mariana, Jesus is here,” Callie tells her, in case Nick being stuck in her brain is making it hard to register the presence of her twin.

 

Mariana goes quiet.  Still. She squints at Jesus.  “He...got you…” she manages.

 

“Yeah, He did,” Jesus echoes sadly, “But I got away.  I’m here now. I’m safe, and so are you.”

 

“...Baby…  Baby…” Mariana repeats looking from Callie to Jesus.

 

Callie casts a confused look to Jesus, unsure of what Callie could mean.  But Jesus seems to be tracking with wherever Mariana’s mind is at the moment.

 

“Our baby sis? Fran?  She’s okay,” Jesus reassures.

 

Mariana’s eyelids droop and start to fall closed even as she holds tightly to Jesus’s hand.

 

“She thought I was still missing.  When that happened, Fran was still a baby…” Jesus shares quietly.

 

“So, you think she feels thirteen right now…” Callie deduces, stunned.

 

“Or something, yeah.  Hey, do you think you can get some pictures printed?  The fam? Fran, especially? So Mariana can see us, and see that we’re all okay?”

 

“And you?” Callie questions.

 

“You know the ones I’m comfortable with using,” he tells her.  “I’m gonna hang out here.”

 

“Hey, don’t…  Don’t mention anything to Moms about the Nick thing?  I’ll make something up. But just...Mariana doesn’t want anybody knowing.  She’d be really upset if she knew Moms knew anything about it.”

 

“Yeah, so I’ll follow your lead…” Jesus agrees in a whisper.

 

“I’ll be back.  With pre-approved pictures,” Callie reassures.  “Wait. You think, like, 2011 pictures or now pictures?”

 

“Maybe one of each?  Especially of Fran? She’s changed a lot, and Mari probably won’t get to see her as much while she’s in here.  Get a good happy one of Fran now.”

 

“Got it,” Callie agrees.

 

\--

 

Before Callie stops by the local Walgreens to print pictures, she goes home.  She finds Jude in the living room playing video games. He glances up at her, eyebrows raised in a question.

 

“She’s talking more,” Callie offers, coming to sit down by him.

 

A slight smile touches his lips.  Ironic, Callie can’t help thinking, that she’s coming home telling Jude that Mariana’s talking more, and he’s clammed up.  If she’s honest, Callie’s been expecting it. Anxiety has always made Jude go quiet. Over the years, she’s gotten better at handling it, for Jude’s sake.  She knows it isn’t something he’s in control of.

 

“I was gonna swing by Anchor Beach and then by Walgreens to print some photos.  Wanna come?” she asks.

 

Jude focuses on the screen again.

 

“Okay,” Callie reassures him.  “Text me if you need something.”

 

\--

 

Callie swings by school and uses the Jesus-Foster-sibling privilege to pull Frankie from class for a couple minutes to talk to her.

 

“Hey,” Callie says, giving her a hug.  “So...Mariana asked about you.”

 

“She did?” Frankie asks, scared, but smiling.

 

“She did.  I’m on my way to print out some pictures to put by her bed so she can see us.  But I thought it might be cool, for her to see you, in a picture, holding  _ this _ picture.”

 

Callie squats down to show Frankie her most favorite picture of her little sister.  Dressed in grey leggings and a pink and orange striped shirt and a headband, she’s smiling and showing a few teeth with just enough hair to do in pigtails.

 

“I’m all drooly, though,” Frankie complains.

 

“I know, but you know who you’re smiling at, off camera?” Callie asks.

 

“You?  Mama? Mom?  Who?” Frankie asks.

 

“Mariana.  She was the only one who could make you smile like that,” Callie shares.  “You wouldn’t listen to anybody but her.”

 

“Okay,” Frankie agrees.  “I wanna hold this one.”

 

“Okay, smile.  Imagine Mariana’s here doing something really silly…”

 

“Like when she hears a song come on that she knows and she sings and dances all around,” Frankie laughs, holding onto the baby picture, and Callie gets the shot.  

 

“That’s great.  Look,” Callie says, coming around to show Frankie.

 

“Will you go print it right now?  So she can see me, even though I can’t see her yet?” Frankie asks.

 

“I will.  Is Mama working today?” Callie asks.

 

“Yeah,” Frankie nods.  “She said we really need the money now that Mariana’s in the hospital.”

 

“Hmm,” Callie says.  “Well, you don’t have to worry about that.  You just have to go to fourth grade, and do your best.”

 

“You always say that,” Frankie tells her.

 

“I do, because it’s your only job.” Callie tells her easily, giving Frankie another hug.

 

\--

 

Printing pictures takes way more time than Callie is anticipating.  She finds herself crying at the photo kiosk, as she looks at pictures of all of them, trying to select the best ones to print.

 

Knowing what she knows about Mariana is enough to totally overwhelm Callie.  She can’t tell anyone, even if she should. If she’s learned anything over the years in this family, it’s the importance of dignity, of respect and of privacy.  Besides that? Mariana’s an adult. She could’ve decided at anytime to tell Moms and she hasn’t, to Callie’s knowledge. 

 

There’s a reason for that.

 

Any other time, Callie might find herself confiding in her boyfriend, AJ, or Brandon, but Brandon is being particularly annoying right now, and Callie and AJ have been doing nothing but growing farther and farther apart lately.

 

So, she’s stuck obsessing over it all, all by herself.  Reading and rereading her text thread with Mariana, and wondering if she responded right or not?  It’s impossible to know for sure.

 

Finally, all the photos print, and Callie steps up to the photo counter, drying her tears.  Luckily, the cashier doesn’t comment. Callie takes the prints and flips through them. She has the one of Frankie holding her baby picture.  One that Mariana and Jesus both like, from Christmas (was that really only two months ago?) and a candid one of them together that Callie had taken the first week or so Jesus came home.  (They’re just sitting side by side on the couch, but they’re mirroring each other, with their arms, legs and heads in identical positions.) 

 

Callie had been equal parts captivated and freaked out.  The only twins she’d known about previously were the evil kind - the stereotype.  But it didn’t take long for Callie to realize that Mariana and Jesus were more than one person’s exaggerated idea of what twins were.  Their bond superseded anything Callie had ever seen.

 

She makes sure she has current pictures of her and Jude, Brandon and Moms, too.  Then, it’s back to the hospital.

 

\--

 

The girl is working the desk again now.  The one with scars on her face. But it’s her eyes Callie notices first.  She thinks of how there was a time when she would’ve taken the mere fact that the girl is interesting as permission to photograph her on the DL.

 

Today, Callie just locks eyes with her for longer than is usually comfortable.  But the girl holds her gaze, not looking away. Finally, the girl nods, acknowledging, maybe, the truth that both of them know.  That Callie’s been recognized. It hits her with a sharp suddenness - the realization that this girl just as easily could’ve taken Callie’s picture - and how would Callie feel about that?  

 

But she sees no evidence of a phone, and Callie returns the nod and heads for the elevators.

 

\--

 

_ Dead. Weight. Head.  _

 

_ Dread.  _

 

_ Heavy. Hazy.  _

 

_ Worst. Hurt. (Throbbing aching expanding contracting not ever gone) _

 

_ This place. Shit.  _

 

**_Why?_ **

 

_ “Calm down, Mariana.”  _

 

_ Seth. (Not Seth. Damn. Step. Stair. Stare. Lock. Cop.)  _ **_Stef._ ** _ No. You can’t be here.  _

 

_ “It’s okay…” _

 

_ Wow.  _

 

_ How.  _

 

_ Why is she so rude? _

 

_ Crying. Again.  _

 

_ Always.  _

 

_ A flowing river of pain. Half dipped in novocaine then forgotten. Trash. _

 

_ Someone did shitty work trying to darken it here. _

 

_ Light withers me. _

 

_ So. Fucking. Loud. Oh my God. Finish me off kill me now I can’t with the goddamn beeping. So much tech but no one made the people fucking headsets so fucking people could fucking sleep… _

 

_ Nothing. _

 

_ Mattress.  _

 

_ Pounding. _

 

_ Beeping. _

 

_ Burning. _

 

_ Nothing. _

 

_Jesus… He came back._ _The rabbit in my heart slows._

 

_ Finally. _

 

_ I breathe. We touch fakely. It’s yes.  _

 

  1. _She brings pics, of course. Old and new. They’re all good ones. Nice interruption. The baby isn’t here. The pic looks new enough to relax me, though. Thanks, C._



 

_ Nothing. _

 

_ Crinkling. (Fucking mattress) _

 

_ Low voices talking.  _

 

_ A new person.  _

 

_ A fucking man. Professional man. Blond man. Wearing Nick’s fucking cologne. Is this a fucking joke? _

 

_ “No…” HELL. NO. GET THE FUCK OUT NOW. _

 

_ “Nick…” Rabbit heart. My voice infuriates me in its quietude.  _

 

_ Laughter thunders through me. Killing me cell by cell.  _

 

_ I die some more. They don’t notice. _

 

_ Blond: “Not a fan of  _ Eau de Doctor _ , I see. Well, I’ll make this quick.”  _

 

_ He comes advancing the fucking loud fucking mattress crinkles I turn away avert my eyes no no no please rabbit’s running I’m contracting brain sloshing fire _

 

_ Shut the fuck up don’t touch me no _

 

_ “Do you know what this is?” Insisting. He would. _

 

_ Yeah, I fucking know what I’ll see. _

 

_ “Mariana?” C this time. “What’s this?” _

 

_ Since it’s C I trust her, I flatten my eyes. Try to look, even through storm-tossed eyes - tornado brain. A flashcard in her hand. _

 

_ With… _

 

_ Oh my God.  _

 

_ The wood thing that I need that nobody  _ has  _ here. It needs a lock. And a key for me. _

 

_ It closes.  _

 

_ What the fuck? _

 

_ It’s… _

 

_ A… _

 

_ (Floor. Gap. Crap. S’more. Shore. More. Say it say it maybe he’ll go) _

 

_ … _

 

_ “...S...Door…” (Nightmare. What the actual fuck?) _

 

_ “Good --” Cologne Not-Nick this time. Cue rabbit. _

 

_ C interrupts him. “Just keep looking at me.” I breathe. I try. The world tilts. Sways. Doesn’t stay. _

 

_ C holds up one of her pics. Points to Step. The image blurs and swerves. Seth. (Oh, not again…) “Who is this?” _

 

_ “No.” I look away. _

 

_ “Do you know who the president is?” Why. Won’t. She. Stop. _

 

_ “Shut up…” grinds out of my throat - a plea. _

 

_ More hushed voices.  _

 

_ “...I’m concerned…” _

 

_ “...Doesn’t know me…” _

 

_ “...Or the president…” _

 

_ I’m so beyond done it’s not even funny. Exhaustion smothers me with a cold muddy hand. It gunkens my brain. Can’t think can’t breathe can’t _

 

_ C isn’t done, though. She squeezes my hand. I know it’s her but I can’t turn my head. “She knows the president. That’s her usual answer. She just hates him. Right?” _

 

_ I summon the hate. And I nod.   _

 

\--

 

It’s hard to believe it’s still only been three days since everything changed.  Saturday is proving to be the longest one yet.

 

It’s bad enough that all the professionals seem to think that Mariana has transformed into something to be treated, studied, and cured.  But Mom is worse. Mom is supposed to love and care about them and instead she seems to be here only because her colleagues were, telling her the first night - and right in Callie and Jesus’s earshot - that Mariana’s blood alcohol level had been twice the legal limit.

 

Stef seems to only be here because Mariana went off the rails.  She has absolutely no bedside manner to speak of and doesn’t seem to know how to even talk to Mariana, much less, reassure her.

 

Mariana’s definitely triggered by something in here, and Callie wishes she could figure out what it is so that Stef will stop with the useless, cold platitudes.

 

“Calm down, Mariana.  It’s okay.” Stef insits, stiff.  (Can she not think of anything else to say?)  It’s obviously not okay, and she can’t calm down.

 

This is the last straw for Mariana, who breaks into tears.

 

Stef leaves.  Callie stays. Holds Mariana’s hand.  

 

Callie is content to sit, unlike Stef who always has to move, talk to doctors, talk to visitors, update people in the waiting room.  The beeping doesn’t bother her. She almost doesn’t notice it after a while.

 

\--

 

Mariana sleeps fitfully.  She moans so that Callie wonders if, despite the morphine, she’s in pain?  

 

She wakes up screaming.  Thrashing. Distantly, Callie wonders if Mariana’s dreamed of the accident...or Nick.

 

Monitors are going off like crazy.  Eventually, nurses come in. Mariana’s sedated.

 

While she sleeps, Callie tries to will information to her telepathically.  The absence of a door, while necessary, is maddening. There’s so little privacy.  So little opportunity to say all the things that desperately need to be said.

 

\--

 

“Stef’s gone,” Callie reassures.  “It’s just you and me. Oops, and Jesus.”

 

On cue, Mariana opens her eyes, and squints at him.  “Hi…” she manages.

 

“Hi,” he says back, taking Callie’s place and holding Mariana’s hand.

 

“Look what I brought,” Callie offers, when it’s clear Mariana’s not going to drift off immediately.  She shows her the picture of Frankie.

 

Mariana studies it, as Jesus holds it for her.  She looks for a long time, touching the picture gently with fingertips.

 

“Frankie wanted me to bring that, so you could see her, even though she can’t see you right now,” Callie explains.

 

“Good,” Mariana says.

 

“Yeah?  Jesus asks.  “There’s more...if you want.”

 

But Mariana grips Jesus’s wrist as he holds the picture of Frankie up for her to see, effectively stopping him from showing her anything else.

 

Finally, Jesus suggests taping the picture up on the right side of Mariana’s bed railing right by her head, so she can always see it.

 

“If I put it right here…” Jesus offers, sticking the picture up.  “How’s that?”

 

“Mm,” Mariana answers affirmatively, and her eyes fall shut as she continues to stare at Frankie’s smiling face.

 

\--

 

“Guess the pictures were a good call,” Jesus tells Callie quietly.

 

“Yeah, I guess,” Callie whispers back.

 

They sit in companionable silence, content to just be here with each other.  To be here with Mariana. 

 

Callie doesn’t want to think about everything she knows.  All the secrets are getting so heavy. Carrying them. Jesus is right here.  He’s the closest person to Mariana. He’d know what to do. But Mariana hadn’t confided in Jesus, as far as Callie knows.  Mariana had confided in her.

 

And Callie can’t break that.

 

\--

 

The silence is broken in early evening when Stef comes back in Mariana’s ICU room with a doctor, intent on evaluating Mariana.

 

For her part, Mariana is definitely awake right now, having heard the new voice, and is visibly upset.

 

“No…” she whimpers.

 

Jesus backs up.  “I need a break. Will you stay with her, please?” he asks Callie.

 

“Of course, dear,” Mrs. Longbottom reassures him out of nowhere.

 

Jesus retreats and Callie stands resolutely by the wall, arms crossed.

 

“Nick…” Mariana moans, her voice cutting out.

 

And Callie’s shocked at the sound of quiet laughter that she hears from Stef and the doctor. Stef snickers, “Ick,” under her breath, like it’s the funniest thing she’s heard in days.  “Can’t believe she just said that..”

 

(And just like that, Callie knows, she doesn’t have to lie.  Stef and the doctor don’t even question that they might be misunderstanding Mariana right now.  They just assume they’re right.)

 

“Not a fan of _ Eau de Doctor _ , I see. Well, I’ll make this quick,” he says, walking up to her bed at a brisk clip.

 

Mariana turns away.  Tries to curl into herself.  Away from him.

 

And Callie feels her sister’s reaction in her soul.  Knows, intimately, just how it feels to have this reaction to a man.  And, particularly, a man who sees you at your most vulnerable.

 

“Do you know what this is?” the doctor insists holding up a flashcard showing a brown door.  Mariana’s not even looking. She can’t look.

 

Impatient with this infuriating doctor, Callie steps up to him and snatches the card from his hand.  She edges her way in, standing beside Mariana’s head, and blocking the doctor’s direct access.

 

“Mariana?  What’s this?”

 

Callie feels cold and heartless right now.  Like she is siding with these awful professionals and with Stef, who treat Mari as nothing more than a problem to solve, but Callie knows.  She knows that the sooner she can help Mariana through this, the sooner this ass of a male doctor can leave and Mariana can hopefully stop panicking.

 

The wait is long, but Callie warns Stef silent with a look she learned well from her own mom.  Eventually, the word is there:

 

“...S…  ...Door…”

 

“Good,” the doctor says.  “Can you tell me who this is?” he asks, pointing to Stef on the left side of the bed.  (The side Mariana does not seem able to reliably turn toward.)

 

Mariana looks on the verge of losing it, tears brimming in her eyes, pulse visible in her throat.

 

“Just keep looking at me,” Callie encourages, flipping through her pictures and finding one of Stef by herself.  “Who is this?”

 

Mariana blinks, closing her eyes for longer and longer intervals in between.  “No...” she manages finally.

 

“I think she’s had enough,” Callie observes, looking at the doctor expectantly.

 

“Just one more.  Mariana, can you tell me who the president is?”

 

Dutifully, Mariana ignores the doctor and concentrates hard on Callie’s own face.  “Do you know who the president is?” Callie repeats in a tone that lets Mariana know Callie’s aware just how ridiculous this question is.  That she has faith in Mariana.

 

Mariana closes her eyes, and draws a ragged breath.  Exhales a soft, “Shut up…”

 

“I’m concerned…” Stef says, as if Mariana’s not right here, listening.  

 

“Well, the inappropriate outbursts are expected,” the doctor says.  “It could just be residual stress. Frustration. It could be she didn’t mean to say it at all.”

 

“She doesn’t know me…” Stef laments.  

 

“Sometimes it just takes time…” the doctor offers unhelpfully.

 

“--Or the president!” Stef insists.  “Are you saying I’m wrong to be concerned?”

 

“No, of course not.  With brain injury recovery, it’s unpredictable.  There are good days and bad days. Get used to the fact that this is a marathon, not a sprint.”

 

Callie squeezes Mariana’s hand.  (Her eyes have fallen shut, but the levels on her monitors indicate she’s still listening.) 

 

“She knows who the president is,” Callie blurts.  (Why is it no one calls moments like this an ‘inappropriate outburst?’)

 

Stef and the doctor turn toward Callie in tandem.

 

“She knows the president.  That’s her usual answer,” Callie insists.  “She just hates him. Right?” she asks Mariana.

 

And, eyes still closed, Mariana nods her head yes.

 

\--

 

Dominique’s had enough of her coworkers’ gossip.  And frankly, curiosity has gotten the better of her.  Thanks to constantly directing the Adams Foster family up to the neuro floor these past couple of days, Dominique knows exactly where it is.

 

She’s not about to try skulking around the ICU, but the waiting room should be close enough.

 

Dominique sees Stef Adams Foster, the cop, crying.  Lena Adams Foster, the school principal, an arm around her.  

 

“It’s okay.  She’ll come around,” Lena is saying.

 

Jesus is sitting right there on the far side of the waiting room, a dog at his feet, looking pale.  His face tear-streaked. The oldest, Brandon, sits by Jesus’s side and has a hand on his back.

 

Dominique distinctly gets the sense that she arrived here 30 seconds too late.  At the same time, she’s deeply ashamed, knowing this family’s pain is not free gossip for Kim and Lisa’s mill.  (Not that Dominique’s here for them…) But still, if anyone loitered around the waiting room when she was a patient here?  Dominique would have been humiliated. Hurt. Violated.

 

She ducks her head and leaves, getting on the elevator just as Callie, the sister, comes down the hall, looking pissed.

 

\--

 

**_Callie:_ **

_ Hey, what level are you on? 11:34 AM _

 

**_Jude:_ **

_ [thumbs down emoji] [talking head emoji] [little girl emoji] 4:23 PM _

 

**_Callie:_ **

_ Not playing anymore?  Did Mama tell you to watch Frankie? 6:57 PM _

 

**_Jude:_ **

_ [speechless emoji with no mouth] 6:59 PM _

 

**_Callie:_ **

_ Right, I know.  Did Mama explain to Frankie?  Does she know that you can text her? 7:01 PM _

 

**_Jude:_ **

_ [frustrated emoji] 7:02 PM _

 

**_Callie:_ **

_ OMW home now.  I’ll explain. (Sorry if I’m getting this all wrong.  Not fluent in emoji.) [sad emoji] 7:05 PM _

 

**_Jude:_ **

_ [heart emoji] 7:09 PM _

 

Callie gets home in time to help Frankie with homework, and make sure she has a snack.  Over a bowl of cereal, Callie asks how Frankie’s day was.

 

“Boring.  Mama wouldn’t let me go to the hospital to visit Mariana, even though she promised.  Plus, Jude just ignored me this whole time…” Frankie pouts eating a big spoonful of Frosted Mini Wheats.

 

“If Jude’s not talking to you, text him,” Callie says.  

 

“But we’re in the same house.  Besides, Mama says that’s excessive,” Frankie points out.

 

“Well, if you wanna talk to Jude, that’s how you do it right now,” Callie points out, irritable.

 

“Why?” Frankie asks.  “He can talk. Why won’t he just talk?”

 

“Because he can’t do that right now, Frankie,” Callie insists.  “Finish your cereal and I’ll come up and tuck you in. Don’t forget to brush your teeth.”

 

“Can you stay?  It’s lonely in our room by myself…” Frankie objects.

 

“Frankie, you’ve had our room to yourself since first grade.  You’ll be fine. Eat your cereal, ‘cause I have to get some clothes for Moms and head back to the hospital.”

 

“So I’ll be  _ alone? _ ” Frankie asks, scared.

 

“No,” Callie sighs, “Jude will be here.”

 

Frankie sighs.

 

Callie does her best to hustle Frankie through eating and brushing her teeth, and changing.  Finally, Callie tucks her into bed, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Mariana looked at the picture I brought of you for a really long time today.  She wanted it taped up right where she could always see it.”

 

“Really?” Frankie asks.

 

“Really.  Jesus asked her what she thought of it and she said  _ good _ ,” Callie tells her.  “Good night. Love you.”

 

“Are you staying?  Are you gonna be here tomorrow?” Frankie asks.

 

“Yeah.  I have to go back probably tomorrow night, though,” Callie says.  She hits the light. Prepares to leave the door ajar slightly so Frankie can see the hall light.

 

“Callie?” Frankie asks.

 

“Yeah?” Callie answers, trying to hide her annoyance.

 

“What’s body-snatched?” Frankie asks.

 

“What?” Callie almost laughs.

 

“Brandon said when he came home...it’s like Mariana’s body-snatched.  Is that like a zombie? I feel like it is, kind of. But he didn’t really explain.”

 

“Mariana’s not body-snatched, and she’s not a zombie.  She’s Mariana. She had an accident and now things are hard for her.  That’s all.”

 

“Like, what things?” Frankie presses.

 

“Like, talking,” Callie shares.  

 

“But Brandon says she keeps on screaming when Mom is there and that she doesn’t even know who Mom is.  It’s like she turned into Other Mariana…”

 

“She’s not Other Mariana, Frankie.  She’s got a lot going on right now, and she can’t tell us about it, because talking’s so hard.  She’s not a zombie. Please stop thinking that.”

 

“It’s Brandon’s fault,” Frankie says.  “He wrote it.”

 

“What do you mean, he wrote it?” Callie asks.

 

“On the thing,” Frankie says, waving a hand toward her phone on her nightstand.  “About Mariana.”

 

\--

 

Callie forces herself to stop by Moms’ room first for clothes for them.  She texts Jesus to see if it’s okay to get clothes for him, while she’s here, and he says it is.  She does the same for Brandon. Then, she stops by the living room and sees Jude, still playing the same game he used to play when he was twelve, and things were tough.

 

“Brandon’s apparently busy telling everyone that Mariana’s been turned into a zombie…” Callie remarks bitterly, pulling up the update.

 

When Jude’s eyes flicker with a hint of something dark, Callie’s glad.  She’s glad she’s not all alone in hating Brandon’s ridiculousness.

 

**_Saturday, March 7, 2020 - 4:18 PM_ **

 

_ Today was an eventful day.  Mariana’s talking more, which is good, but the things she is saying are not exactly PC.  A lot of outbursts. (And since all of you know Mariana, you know it’s not that far from the Mariana we all know, right?)  Though, TBH, it does feel a little bit like my sister’s been body-snatched... _

 

_ Anyway, a doctor came in this afternoon and evaluated her speech.  After telling the doctor he stunk, Mariana correctly identified “door,”after quite a pause.  But she was unable to tell who Mom was, which, understandably, has Mom pretty upset. Mariana was also more than a little fuzzy on the current president but we can’t blame her for that, right? _

 

_ Brandon _

 

_ \-- _

 

_ Nothing. _

 

_ Half sounds - not-words - click and hiss. The air stopping cracks my ears. Can’t stop the earworms from decomposing me. I’m invasioned. _

 

_ Rancid gagging coffee vapors swallow me.   _

 

_ Light defiles me. _

 

_ A soft thing. Moving. When I can’t. I can’t move. Why can’t I? What is it? _

 

_ Don’t look - the light radishes… _

 

_ “Why...” Pushing the thing. _

 

_ “Why what, honey?” Step. _

 

_ “Rat…” It better not be. _

 

_ “A rat?” Step laughs - gunshots. _

 

_ I moan.  _

 

_ Nothing. _

 

_ The rat is gone. _

 

_ My half-tongue is growing. Clifford broke the house. The big red half-tongue.  _

 

_ “Mouth…” I manage.  _

 

_ People do things.  _

 

_ Nothing. _

 

_ Earworms are back. Insisting. Pulling.  _

 

_ I sit up. Crinkling. Moaning. Waves roll. Don’t look. _

 

_ The worms crawl in.  _

 

_ The worms crawl out. _

 

_ The storm throws me, rocking. _

 

_ Leave me leave me leave me leave me. _

 

_ They put me back, doll-like.  Earworms praise. _

 

_ I sink. Crinkling. My skin crawls in. My skin crawls out.  _

 

_ \-- _

 

**_Saturday, March 7, 2020 - 9:13 PM_ **

_ Tonight, things were pretty interesting.  Jesus brought Mari her childhood blanket and Mariana asked: “Why is there a rat in my bed?”  So, Mom moved the “rat”, haha. _

 

_ In less fun news, she had a big reaction to the morphine she’s on for pain.  After some scary swelling of the face, the docs replaced that. _

 

_ To finish out the day, they had Mariana practice sitting on the edge of her bed.  She’s pretty dizzy and was exhausted by the minute or two she was up. _

 

_ We’re glad for the exhaustion because at least she’s not screaming or telling us to shut up.   _

 

_ (Sorry, Mariana, just keeping it real…) _

 

_ Brandon _

 

\--

 

All calls to Brandon are declined.  Callie knows what that sounds like because she’s declined enough calls of her own.  

 

Fine.

 

If he’s determined to look like an ass (and even sign his name to it), he can have at it.  Callie has avoided giving him updates, because she knows exactly where they’ll go (along with Brandon’s maddening editorializing).  

 

Blinking back tears, Callie does her best to focus on the road in front of her - not the random swirling thoughts within her.  Not the knowledge that Mariana’s accident has brought out the absolute worst in her parents. (Lena’s all but vanished, burying herself in work, and Stef is rude and short with Mariana.  Callie still has not forgiven her for laughing in Mariana’s face when she was so triggered by the doctor about Nick.) And Brandon’s just...he’s taking Moms’ permission to blog about this too far.

 

Callie vows not to let what’s happening around her morph her into someone Callie doesn’t want to be.  She needs to be the person she herself needed at ten, having just lost her mom, and again months later, with Liam.  And again, after that with the Pearsons…

 

And if that means guarding Mariana’s secrets as fiercely as Callie guards her own, then so be it.


End file.
